


Dammit

by ferromans



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (Thanks Howard), Alternate Universe - College/University, Arc-Reactor, Conspiracy, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Steve Rogers, Tony Is Emotionally Repressed, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, natasha romanoff/bucky barnes (secondary)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-18 19:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferromans/pseuds/ferromans
Summary: “Ya know,” Bucky said, earning a glare from a student at the next table. “You could ask someone for help.”“Like who?” Steve snapped, slamming the textbook closed, before jamming it back into his bag. “I’m not asking one of the pre-med majors for help -- they barely have enough time to breathe, let alone tutor someone. And they’re all freshman anyway.”“Well, you can’t be the only non-pre-med major in that class...isn’t Clint taking that class too?” Bucky asked.“Clint is worse off than I am, and the only other person who isn’t pre-med or health sciences is Tony Stark, and he’s a jerk,” Steve said, standing up._________Or the one where Steve is forced to ask for Tony's help, and is more surprised by the other boy than he thought possible.





	1. Uh oh

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially the worst summary ever it’s so misleading you think this is going to be funny and cute but i fucked up because i’m a trash person with no redeeming value
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, i'm going to say that they’re all college-aged, but Tony still skipped ahead. So, as seniors, Steve and all of them are 21-22, but Tony is only 18.
> 
> Also: I'm in college myself and I'm an actual garbage can so the updates will likely be slow, but !!! I'll keep updating.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also, the first....like six chapters were written when i was 16 and I've been pretty lazy about editing them so bare with me.

Steve had no idea how he got placed in anatomy and physiology (aside from the short mumbled explanation about general ed requirements from the registrars office). He was a _very_ unwilling art major, who had been promised 'No Science Classes' the day he'd signed on. 

And now he was an art major who had an anatomy and physiology test on muscles in less than a week. 

An art major who was bad at labs, even worse with memorization, and who only had a vague idea of where the sartorius was located. 

He cursed, ignoring the snicker from Bucky. 

“Ya know,” Bucky said, earning a glare from a student at the next table. “You could ask someone for help.” 

“Like who?” Steve snapped, slamming the textbook closed, before jamming it back into his bag. “I’m not asking one of the pre-med majors for help -- they barely have enough time to breathe, let alone tutor someone. And they’re all freshman anyway.” 

“Well, you can’t be the only non-pre-med major in that class...isn’t Clint taking that class too?” Bucky asked. 

“Clint is worse off than I am, and the only other person who isn’t pre-med or health sciences is Tony Stark, and he’s a jerk,” Steve said, standing up. Bucky shoved his own textbook away and followed the blonde out of the room. 

“Stark? Isn’t he super smart though?” 

Steve snorted, “He likes to think he is.” 

“He isn’t?” Bucky queried, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, I mean, yes he is. But he’s so annoying” Steve whined, plopping down into one of the empty lawn chairs outside of the library. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you have much of a choice.” Bucky said, taking a seat next to him. “Your grade in that class is what? A D+?” 

“Yeah,” Steve moaned. “And I can’t afford to have a D on my transcript, or they’ll revoke my scholarship.” 

“Yeah, I’d call Stark then.” 

“And what? Listen to him gloat?” Steve asked. 

“Does he even know who you are?” Bucky retorted, eyeing his friend. 

“Yes,” Steve said defensively, “He sits at my table and points out every single mistake I make.” 

“I mean...would you rather fail?” Bucky asked. 

“No.” Steve groaned, knowing that Bucky was making sense. In fact, he’d come to the same conclusion before, but had decided to talk to Bucky and see if he came up with some better ideas. 

He groaned again. 

They did say that advice was what you asked for when you knew the answer, but wished you didn’t. 

_________________

Steve walked into Stark’s dorm with purpose, scanning the unfamiliar common room for the boy. It was a long shot, but he knew through the grapevine that Stark occasionally came out of his engineering cave to play video games with Rhodes and Banner.

He was both pleased and upset to find that the shorter boy was, in fact, present. Stark was laughing at something Rhodes had said, and Banner was reading on the couch with the trace of a smile at the edge of his lips. 

“Stark,” Steve said, walking further into the lounge to draw the other boy’s attention. Stark looked up, and paused the game. 

“Yeah?” He asked, head cocking to the side just slightly. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Steve asked, jerking his head towards the exit. 

“Am I in trouble, Cap?” Stark asked, smirk playing on his lips. 

“I’m not the captain anymore, Stark, the season’s over.” Steve snapped, glaring at the younger boy. “Can you please just come here for a minute?” 

“Yeah, fine, whatever you want, Mr. Brady.” Stark said, lifting himself up from the floor and trudging over to where Steve was standing. 

Steve ignored the jibe, and grabbed the other boy by the arm, gently, but hard enough to steer him out of the room and into the hallway outside. 

“I love it when you get handsy,” Stark leered, and Steve rolled his eyes. 

“I need your help,” Steve said, releasing the younger boy’s arm. 

“My help?” Stark asked, but there was none of the suspected mirth in his brown eyes. Instead, he looked genuinely interested, excited even, if not surprised.

Steve furrowed his brows. “Um, yeah.” 

“With what?” Stark asked, relaxing some and leaning against the wall. 

“I’m not so good at anatomy and physiology, and I was wondering if, um, maybe you could…” Steve trailed off, ducking his head to hide the blush he was feeling rise to his cheeks. Of course, he thought, Stark was so short it probably wasn’t as effective as it was with Bucky.

“You need a tutor?” Stark asked, though it was less of a question and more of a statement. 

Steve nodded, and looked down at the younger boy to gauge his reaction. He looked like Christmas came early. 

“Awesome, cool, do you want to meet tomorrow then? What do you need help with? I can get some lesson plans ready tonight. I’m assuming this is for the test coming up, right?” 

Steve blinked, taken aback by the rather vocal outburst.

“Yeah, um, that’d be great. Thank you.” Steve answered. “I’m not quite sure about anything in this unit.” 

Stark smiled at him, “You should’ve come to me sooner, blondie.”

“Ah, well, um…”Steve trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you, Star—Tony”

“It’s not a problem. I’ve got all of my homework done, for like, the next three weeks.” 

Steve tightened his lips, suddenly reminded why he found the other boy so annoying. “Well, thank you, anyway.” 

“Mm,” Stark hummed, pushing himself off the wall. “Do you want to meet in the library at five tomorrow?” 

Steve nodded his assent, and thanked Stark once more before heading back to his own dorm.  
__________________________________

Steve flopped face-first onto his bed, totally ignoring the dirty looks Natasha and Bucky sent his way for interrupting their movie. 

He moaned into his pillow, before rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. 

“So, how’d it go?” Bucky asked, sitting up and throwing his legs off the side of his bed. 

“He said yes,” Steve said. Bucky raised an eyebrow and Steve turned to them. 

“And that’s a bad thing because...?” Natasha asked, joining her boyfriend on the side of the bed. 

“I don’t know yet, but it is.” Steve mumbled. “He was too excited to help. He’s planning something, probably.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he probably is,” he insisted. 

“Do you think that maybe you’re being a bit unfair?” Bucky asked. 

“No,” Steve said defensively. “It doesn’t make sense. He acts like an arrogant rich boy, and has done nothing to suggest the contrary,” Steve ranted, not letting Bucky nor Natasha get a word in edgewise before continuing, “but now he’s excited to help me? He didn’t make fun of me, he didn’t ask for anything.” 

“Maybe he likes helping people.” Natasha suggested, pulling Bucky back down onto the bed so they could lie next to each other. 

“I doubt it,” Steve muttered.

“Steve, why do you hate him?” Bucky asked, sitting back up with a concerned look on his face. Steve heaved a sigh; even he knew he was blowing the issue out of proportion, but he couldn’t help himself.

“It’s just…” Steve started, “It’s just that I had to work so hard to even attend college, and it was guaranteed to him. He takes for granted everything - his friends, his family, his money, education. Everything. And then he has the gall to correct me and make me feel like I’m too stupid to even here.” 

Natasha sat up with a thoughtful look on her face. “You might be right. But being that rich comes with it’s own problems, doesn’t it?” 

Steve was about to answer when Bucky continued for her. 

“Steve, I don’t know him like you do, but I think you might not be giving him the same benefit of the doubt as you give everyone else.” 

“Why are you guys playing devil’s advocate?” Steve asked, annoyed. 

“People thought I was awful too, until Clint gave me a chance.” Natasha said. Steve winced, remembering the rumors that circulated their freshman year about Natasha being a Russian spy. It was absurd, but people were willing to believe it just because it was interesting. 

“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m meeting him tomorrow at five.” Steve said, yanking his backpack open and pulling out his sketchbook. 

“It probably won’t be that bad.” Bucky said, flashing the blonde a grin. “Besides, he’s pretty cute isn’t he?” 

Natasha gave him a flat look and Steve glared at him.

“Shut up, Buck.”  
_______________________________________

“Okay so here, I printed these out and colored them for you. The red ones are flexors and the blue ones are extensors.” Stark said, dropping a giant pile of papers on the table. Steve stared at it with growing horror. 

“All of this?” He asked. Stark looked between him and the giant pile of paper before laughing.  
When Stark laughed it was loud, boisterous, and his whole body moved - from his nose, which scrunched up, to his shoulders and diaphragm which shuddered with the harsh intakes of breath. 

It was contagious. 

Steve bit back his own smile, and plopped down in the chair across from Stark. 

“No, no,” Stark wheezed, gasping as he tried to take control of his body. “No. Sorry, I printed out two copies of everything - I completed one set and you can use them to check your work on the blank set.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything aside from a quiet, begrudging ‘thank you.’

“No problem,” Stark grinned, rifling through the papers and separating them into the two separate piles. “I also made a cheat sheet of trivia that I think will probably be on the test.” 

Stark shoved a piece of looseleaf paper in Steve’s face. Stark’s handwriting was angular - all sharp edges and jagged lines. It was beautiful, in a weird way. 

“For example, the sartorius is the longest muscle in the body.” Stark said. 

Steve perked up at the mention of the sartorius, and asked shyly, “And where is it?”

Stark looked at him, seemingly caught off guard by Steve’s contribution to the conversation before replying, “It’s runs down the length of the thigh.” 

He traced a line from his upper thigh down to the outside of his leg, presumably illustrating where the muscle was. 

Steve nodded, trying not to pay attention to the movement and the shape of the other boy’s thigh, and started leafing through a few of the other worksheets that Stark had already completed. 

“I thought today we could work on just muscle location? Once you get into the physiology part it gets more complicated,” Stark explained, looking up at Steve from under long brown eyelashes.

Steve nodded, the suspicions (paranoia, Natasha had called it) from earlier came back. It would be easy for Stark to teach Steve things that weren’t true because Steve didn’t even have enough knowledge to form a decent point of reference.

Still, after and hour and half, Steve was willing to concede that he did feel he had a better understanding of the material.

His understanding of Stark, however, was crumbling.


	2. yikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dont take the titles seriously....im awful at them. 
> 
> anyway, this is only getting posted on time because my need to procrastinate means i wrote this and.........did not do the 89 pages of psych reading i should have been doing. 
> 
> i hope you like it!!
> 
> also shit gets real this chapter ngngngngn i should have drawn it out longer but i was excited to get the story moving

They worked together for the next three days, meeting in the library for a couple hours each night at five. 

Steve managed to figure out the anatomy fairly easily, but as Tony had promised, the physiology was significantly more difficult. 

Not as difficult, perhaps, as listening to the ridiculous mnemonics Stark came up with to help him memorize different enzymes and other such nonsense.

Bucky would greet him when he got back every night with an annoying grin on his face, as if he were getting visceral joy out of seeing Steve receiving aid from the Stark scion.

Steve was annoyed to find he was becoming less annoyed at his roommate’s teasing.   
___________

The classroom was quiet, the clock ticking rhythmically on the wall as pencils scratched out answers in the thick booklet. 

Steve took a deep breath and returned to the test, flipping through it once more to see if there was anything he thought he’d get hung up on. 

There wasn’t. 

As loathe as he was to admit it, Tony had covered everything, it seemed, and had done it in a way Steve could understand. 

And that was even more perplexing. Genius types were supposed to be socially awkward, they weren’t supposed to understand how plebeian minds worked.

Or maybe Stark was just that smart. He glanced at the boy to his left and was unsurprised to see that he was already halfway through the exam that had started no more than ten minutes prior. 

Steve was on page two. 

A knock at the door disrupted the scratching of pencils on papers as heads peered up to look towards the door. The professor stood and walked over. Steve couldn’t quite see who was on the other side, but after a brief exchange of words the teacher turned to the class with a rather distressed expression on his face. 

“Tony?” 

Steve didn’t miss the use of first name, but it didn’t sound like favoritism like it normally did – like professors made special note to learn Tony’s name and no one else’s. Today it sounded sorry. 

Tony stood from his desk, and faltered for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure if he should grab his backpack or not. A nod from the teacher, and Tony grabbed it. The teacher took the test from his hands and murmured something into his ear before guiding him out of the room. 

The professor didn’t come back, but ten minutes later a TA came in to finish proctoring the exam. Steve had trouble focusing, but fortunately, the test was on exactly what Tony had prepared him for. 

_________________

“Was Tony in class today?” Bucky asked as soon as Steve walked out of the classroom. Steve stared in bewilderment; Bucky was supposed to be in his political science class on the other side of campus. 

“He was,” Steve said, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “He left.”

“Wait, so what happened?” Bucky asked, grabbing Steve’s arm and steering him down the hallway towards the science lounge. Steve groaned, he could already see the swell of people in the room. 

“The professor called him out of class. Why?” Steve asked, but the question died on his lips when he saw what was playing on the TV. 

“Because his parents are dead.” 

Bright red headlines screamed at him from the bottom of the television screen, “HOWARD AND MARIA STARK KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT.” A dark haired woman Steve recognized as the college spokesperson Maria Hill was being interviewed in front of the school, where campus police were blocking the main entrance to campus. 

News vans and miscellaneous cars were parked up and down the streets as people shuffled around the impromptu barrier. A big, bald man had an arm wrapped around Tony, his large hand wrapped around the base of the boy’s skull to push his head down and conceal his face from view. 

Stark was pushed into a conspicuously inconspicuous black car a moment later. The screen zoomed in on the interview with Maria Hill. 

“Carter College is, of course, feeling and mourning the loss of the Stark family and all they have done for this community, and we intend to support Anthony and aid him in all struggles he may face in the following months. The school has nothing further to say at this time.” 

The interview cut off and Steve felt a weight like bricks weighing down on his heart, and a sense of surrealness swirled around his head and left him feeling dizzy. 

The story continued playing, recapping the information they had; like how Maria and Howard Stark were in some foreign country, and how the bodies would be shipped back to America after the investigation was complete, how foul play may have been a factor, but police weren’t saying anything yet. 

“How did you know?” Steve asked, finally calming his mind enough to turn to his friend. Bucky turned his attention away from the TV. 

“They let us out of classes because of the press.” Bucky said, “I ‘spect since you were in a test, no one in your class had access to a phone. No one knew.” 

And that was a strange thought to Steve; that most of the school – most of the world, probably – found out Maria and Howard Stark had died before their only son. 

The overwhelming sense of surrealness washed up into his brain again and left him feeling foggy. 

“They say he’ll be on his own now. He ain’t a kid, ya know?” Bucky said, “He’s 18.” 

“What about the other guy?” Steve asked. 

“Stane?” Bucky asked. “Don’t know.” 

Neither did the media, because they weren’t talking about it either. Instead, they were focusing on all the things Howard and Maria had done for the country, for technology.

“Will Tony come back, do you think?” Steve asked, thinking back to the biology test that Stark hadn’t been able to finish. 

He remember the confused look on his face, the crinkle of his nose, the slight widening of his eyes when his name had been called. 

He didn’t known that a harbinger of death had been waiting on the other side of the door. He’d walked out of that classroom and into a completely different life. 

“He’ll come back,” Bucky said, glancing to a corner of the room. Steve followed his gaze and felt his heart break a little. 

Rhodes was holding a sobbing redhead Steve recognized as another of Tony’s friends to his chest, his knuckles clenching the back of her shirt. His jaw was stiff like he was trying to hold back tears. 

Banner wasn’t having the same problem; even from a distance Steve could see the wetness on his cheeks, the unadulterated concern that painted his face as he stared at the television. 

He wondered when they’d found out. He wondered if they’d heard from Tony. 

A loud explosion rocked the world back into focus and Steve turned his attention back to the TV where a reporter was screaming and pointing at a billowing cloud of smoke no more than two blocks down the street. 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat as the camera man ran towards the scene, the reporters managing to keep in front of him. The road was blocked by cars and passersby trying to run from whatever had happened. 

The dialogue was a blurred whirl of words that were indeterminable in the chaos. 

Undulating clouds of smoke swirled in the sky and off the television screen. 

Police were already in the way, blocking off the entrances to the area where the explosion had occurred. 

Steve didn’t need a statement to see the chunks of black metal littering the street, the lump of a body that the camera man hadn’t shielded from the sensitive eyes of young viewers. 

They hadn’t been prepared to film this. No one had. 

Chaos ensued for minutes, hours, years, eons. For what felt like forever. 

A choked keen came from the corner of the room, and Steve didn’t have to look to know it was the redhead, didn’t have too look to know the muffled sob was Rhodes. 

He didn’t have to look to see his peers’ shocked faces, eyes wide with fear or incredulity or both. 

Bucky grabbed his shoulder, but Steve couldn’t even look at him. 

An ambulance arrived on the scene, followed by three more and a fire truck. A helicopter could be seen circling above and off of the screen. What looked like fifty microphones were being shoved at the first officer to step forward. 

“The explosion looks to have been the result of a car bomb,” the man said. A flurry of questions flew past him, but he didn’t pause long enough to even pretend he was listening. “The car was indeed the vehicle transporting Obadiah Stane and Tony Stark, as well as their driver Edwin Jarvis.” 

There was another flurry of questions. 

“Edwin Jarvis looks to have been killed on impact, no word yet on the condition of Stane.” There was another lengthy pause and Steve could feel the pressure of tears building behind his eyes for a boy he barely knew. “Stark appears to have been kidnapped.” 

The world was in stunned silence; not even the reporters uttered a word for several moments. The sound of flesh hitting the floor reverberated through the room, and Steve saw where the redhead and Rhodes had fallen to the floor, both staring wide-eyed at the television. 

Steve glanced back. The questions had started up again without Steve noticing. 

“Holy shit.” Bucky breathed. 

The police officer on scene dismissed the reporters citing that there was nothing else to say. 

Steve knew it was a lie. Everyone knew. 

But maybe saying it aloud was too disturbing to address at the moment. 

That something big was going on. Something bad. 

Steve glanced around the room again. Rhodes and the girl were clinging to each other, tears falling freely as they watched. Banner was leaning against the wall, head down, hands on knees and breathing hard like he was trying to stave off a panic attack. 

Kids Steve didn’t even know were holding each other, tears in the eyes of some of them, fear in the eyes of others, greedy curiosity lurking in the eyes of most. 

Five days ago he’d begrudgingly gone to Stark for help, determined to hate him for everything he was. Four days ago he’d gotten the inkling that he may have misjudged the other boy. Three days ago he’d been laughing with Stark as they came up with ridiculous mnemonics to help with memorization. Two days ago he’d given up on being suspicious of Tony’s motives. Last night, Tony had wished him good luck on the exam.   
Tonight, the campus would be chaos.


	3. all aboard the pain train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay im updating fairly regularly, but don't get used to it. I had a few chapters prewritten but I'm gunna be incredibly busy for like the next month, so maybe expect only one other chapter in the next four weeks. sorry!

Steve and Bucky had eventually returned to their dorm room. The campus had been put on state of emergency due to the bombing, and students that desired were permitted to leave the school.

 

The campus police sent out an email about reporters and how to deal with them. The president of Carter College, Nick Fury, made a public appearance on the news to address the incidents. The _President of the United States of America_ made a public statement to address the incidents.

 

The whole world was looking for Tony Stark and praying for Obadiah Stane. Still in critical condition, the news had reported.

 

By dinnertime opinion pieces were running rampant, and news stations were spouting theories. Students that stayed on campus were discussing the likelihood of the two incidents being related.

 

Steve wondered how anybody could think they weren’t.

 

Bucky and Natasha sat with him in the dorm lounge with a cluster of thirty or so other people to watch the evening news. It was repeats of what they’d been hearing all day, but Steve always needed to hear it again, because in spite of seeing it everywhere he went, it still didn’t feel real.

 

It didn’t feel like something that could have or should have happened in his life. And it didn’t even happen to him, but it felt like it did.

 

He barely knew Tony, but the sadness in his chest and the effect all of this was having on him made it feel like maybe he did know him.

 

Or maybe that’s what everyone was feeling.

 

The next few weeks resulted in a somber mood on campus. The reporters died down and dwindled into nothing. Maria and Howard’s bodies were shipped back to no one. Obadiah was still recovering, Tony was still gone.

 

Stark Industries stock plummeted almost seventy points.

 

Steve got an A on the test Tony never got a chance to finish.

_____________________________

 

Steve was watching the news again, like he had been everyday since Stark was taken. Bucky was sitting next to him on the couch in the lounge, Natasha curled into his side.

 

They hadn’t made fun of him for it, and he partially suspected it was because half the campus was doing the same thing.

 

When Tony had been there, Steve hadn’t given him much thought. Their freshman year there was a lot of noise about Stark choosing a small liberal arts school instead of an Ivy League. There was a lot of noise about Stark being 15 years old.

 

But Steve had never really seen much of him.

 

They had a class together sophomore year, but Tony had sat on the other side of the room. He’d been a know-it-all, had been as flirty as ever. Steve had been annoyed mostly because Stark was only 16 and he should have known no one would give him the time of day.

 

Except they did. Stark didn’t seem to mind that he had a flock of people following him around everywhere, laughing at his jokes as he bought them gifts.

 

This impression of the Stark heir had continued until that fateful biology test when Steve had finally caught a glimpse of something different living inside the facade Tony portrayed. And that’s what he had decided it was; a facade.

 

He’d done a fair bit of research on Tony since he’d been missing. Bucky had called it obsessing. Natasha had called it grieving.

 

Steve wasn’t sure what he had to be grieving, except for maybe not ever figuring out the enigma that was Tony Stark.

 

And so he’d read about how Stark had created his first circuit board at age four, about the robot he’d created at age six. He read about how Stark had been accepted to all eight Ivy Leagues and then chose to attend Carter College.

 

He read and saw patterns between Tony’s scandals and Stark Industries’ presence in the media. He read and thought maybe Tony was a tool to stay relevant.

 

He tried to reconcile the obnoxious boy who sat next to him in class and the helpful person who’d tutored him in anatomy and physiology.

 

He tried to reconcile his disdain for the one and respect for the other. He tried to make sense of it, tried to ignore his dislike by convincing himself that wasn’t who Tony really was.

 

But he didn’t know that. Couldn’t know that.

Not while Tony was missing. Not when he’d only ever been civil with him for a total of eight and a half hours. Not when most of that time was spent talking about school.

 

Not when he looked at his scuffed converse and secondhand textbooks.

 

He was conflicted. He couldn’t figure out why he cared so much that Tony was gone. Bucky and Natasha weren’t quite acting normal yet either, not completely normal, but there were flashes where it seemed like they forgot that Tony was missing.

 

Steve didn’t have those flashes. Not even when he was asleep.

 

Not even over winter break, or when the new semester started and he didn’t have that empty seat in anatomy and physiology sitting next to him.

 

He heaved a sigh.

 

“You look like shit.” Natasha said flatly, drawing Steve out of his head. He glanced at her, but didn’t object.

 

Bucky stiffened, nearly throwing Natasha off of him in his haste to grab the remote from the table. Unmuted, the volume was nearly deafening.

 

“-has been found wandering the Canadian wilderness. The American 18-year-old heir to Stark Industries has been taken to Grady Memorial hospital in Canada in critical condition.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened, and he shot up out of the chair to stand closer to the TV.

 

“Little is known about Stark’s condition, or the situation at large. The FBI is taking lead on the investigation with support from local police.”

 

Steve’s sat himself back down on the couch, staring unblinkingly at the television. A candid photo of what must have been Tony flew to the television screen.

 

But it didn’t look like him. The boy in the photo was maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet. And he was soaking wet. He wasn’t wearing shoes, his feet bright red against the snow where a medic was holding one of them. Blood covered the grey-brown sweatshirt he was wearing, and had painted the ground a brilliant shade of crimson. Cargo pants were torn, and skinny legs were visible through large gashes in the fabric.

 

But his face was the worst. Brown eyes were dull and scared, and surrounded by dark circles; Steve couldn’t tell if they were bruises or evidence of exhaustion. His brown hair was a tangled mess, falling around his ears and matted with what was obviously blood and probably dirt. The fluid covered most of his face too, rust colored stains below his nose and from his mouth traveled down a delicate neck and mixed with the trail that fell from a wound on his temple.

 

“We’re getting word that he has been delivered to the hospital, but remains in critical condition.”

 

“Holy shit.” Bucky breathed. Other students were filtering into the room, but Steve ignored them as a clip of Stane rushing into the doors of the hospital filled the screen. A moment later another clip of an interview with the balding man appeared.

 

Steve was perturbed by how professional the interview was, especially given the father and son relationship he portrayed with Tony to the media.

 

No one else seemed to notice, so Steve ignored that train of thought and instead listened to the interview with the park rangers who’d found him.

 

“We were out doing routine checkups at the outposts when we found.” One of the rangers said. “He was shaking like a leaf. Bloodied himself up pretty bad. We called in a snowmobile and got him set up on a stretcher.”

 

“Didn’t know who he was ‘til the paramedic made a comment about the Stark kid.” The other ranger said, rubbing the back of his head as if she were still in disbelief.

 

Steve supposed it was understandable. Finding the kidnapped son of a murdered billionaire wandering alone in the Canadian wilderness in February after being kidnapped in New York in December would likely be enough to get anyone’s head reeling.

 

Steve’s was, and he wasn’t even there.

 

And the reeling of his head was about the extent of what he was feeling that he could interpret. Relief was probably in there somewhere, and so were concern and curiosity, and maybe even fear.  But the familiar dissociation and surrealism kept everything numb and distant and indeterminable.

 

“Tony stark has been found alive,” the reporter said, reiterating the story for new viewers. “He’s in critical condition in a Canadian hospital. Obadiah Stane is standing vigil in the emergency room, waiting with the world for the outcome.”

 


	4. here's TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the long wait, but I did warn u. A lot of unanticipated shit has happened so i'm glad I had this chapter backlogged. I'm still gunna be hella busy until april though, so this every other/every third week schedule might persist for a bit. 
> 
> I know, I suck. 
> 
> Anyway's I'm p sure this chapter is longer than usual. And It was going to be even longer, but that was Too Long, so I cut it down some. 
> 
> anyway, come yell at me on tumblr @ferromans

Steve stayed on the couch for the eight hours it took for the story to develop, waiting patiently through opinion pieces and psychological experts and trauma therapists. 

He was on the couch when they’d brought out the dogs to follow Tony’s tracks, and he was there when that resulted in nothing more than incredulous survivalists raving about how in the hell an 18-year-old kid survived wandering in the woods. He was there when they traced his path, a tracked 28.7 miles.

He was there when the Canadian police said given the state of his injuries, walking that long would have taken a minimum of a week, and that it would have been impossible if he did not have heavier clothing or shoes at some point. He was there when the FBI announced they’d be instigating a joint investigation with the Canadian police to search the wilderness for those articles of clothing in hope of finding whomever had taken Stark. 

He was there when the world heard that Tony Stark would survive.   
______________

Three days later, the FBI found Tony’s shoes, bloody where his feet had been rubbed raw, and soleless. 

Four days later they found the remains of a jacket, and the public was made aware that Stark’s injuries were classified.

Five days later Tony Stark woke up and was transported back to America. Steve watched the footage of him being wheeled out of the hospital; small, and frail, sharp edges and steel-cold eyes that glared at anything that came too close. Obadiah Stane stalked behind him. 

Eight days later and Carter College announced Tony Stark would be returning to classes in March. 

Nine days later the rest of the public found out about it. 

________________

Steve slumped across campus, ignoring the beeping of his phone in his pocket that told him he had an art history class to be going to. 

It was February 28th, and Tony Stark would be coming back to class tomorrow. Rumors were flying that he was on campus today, but Steve hadn’t seen any evidence of that. There were no bustling bodies outside of the dorm he lived in, there were no reporters milling about, or news vans crowding the street. 

He sat down on a bench, ignoring the unpleasant clinginess of the cold wind as he stared at the dorm Tony would be returning to. 

He wondered if Tony considered it home. 

After he’d been brought back from Canada and had ‘sufficient’ time to ‘recover’, he’d been very publicly brought into the FBI for questioning about what had occurred.

At one point, a news station had tried to get an interview with him, but all that he’d managed to say before Stane ushered him away was in response to the question, “are you happy to be home?”. 

“What home?” He’d said. Steve remembered his face as he’d said those words; Stark was absolutely wrecked; his face was still gaunt from the weight-loss, and his skin was pallid. His hair had been cut short, and revealed a surgical scar on the left side of his head, bright pink with it’s newness. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, and overflowing with hopelessness. 

It was only then that it seemed to collectively strike the public that Stark had never had time to mourn his parents before he’d been kidnapped, and that in the process he’d missed his parents’ funerals.

Some gossip rag had managed to tail Tony and Obadiah to the cemetery. The public was fascinated by the fact that Edwin Jarvis was the first grave Tony visited. Steve was more interested in the big, meaty hand that was gripping Tony’s shoulder in the photo that accompanied the article. 

Later that same day it was reported that Obadiah would only have control of the company until Tony was 21.   
______________________

There was a party that night. He’d been invited by several people, and the answer has been the same every time. 

Steve shook his head, “No. I’ve got a math test tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, nodding for Natasha to go ahead and head out. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Steve said, flashing a smile. Bucky gave him a dubious look, but didn’t push it before following Natasha out of the room. 

Steve never really liked parties anyway. And he really did have a math test the next day. 

It was only Calculus, but he’d been avoiding taking it until senior year for a reason. 

He hated math. 

The integral he was working on stared back at him; it wasn’t even that it was hard, per sé, but he had trouble applying the basics to more advanced processes. 

A knock on the door distracted him from his work, and he took the excuse for what it was and stood up to answer it. 

He was not as surprised as maybe he should have been to see Tony Stark shuffling outside his room, but as it were, he stood there, mouth agape, staring. 

Tony had managed to put on some of the weight he’d lost, but he was still small inside of the blue Carter College sweatshirt he wore. His jeans looked two sizes too big, and engulfed all but the toes of the shoes he was wearing. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he was wringing them in what Steve knew was a nervous gesture. 

“I–” He started. 

Tony interrupted, “What’d you get on the test?” 

Steve blinked. Tony was looking up at him with big brown eyes. Steve blinked again. 

“What?” 

“What’d you get on the anatomy test?” Tony asked again, pushing himself into the room. Steve stood there a moment before closing the door and turning to see where Tony was standing awkwardly to the left of his desk. 

“I got an A.” Steve said. A smile plastered itself to Tony’s face, before shifting into a full on grin. His nose scrunched up and his eyebrows drew together as his eyes closed. He exhaled. 

“I knew I was amazing.” Tony said, before peering over to look at what Steve was working on. He reached down with an index finger and traced the problem. 

“Why are you taking Calculus? You’re an art major, aren’t you?” 

Steve stared, still not quite caught up on exactly what was occurring. “What – What are you doing here?” 

“I just wanted to know how your test went.” Tony paused, and the grin fell off his face. “I’ve been out of town.” 

“I heard.” Steve said, coming closer and sitting in the desk chair. “So why aren’t you with your friends?” 

“I am.” Tony said. 

Steve blinked. 

“No you’re not.” 

Tony didn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve almost felt bad, except that they really weren’t friends. 

“I hated you.” Steve said before he could stop himself. “I mean, until you started tutoring me.” 

Tony didn’t look surprised. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve tried, face flushing at how it had sounded. “I mean; you acted different then. When you tutored me.” 

Tony didn’t say anything for a moment. And then, “I know.” 

Steve stared at him. “You know I hated you, or you know you acted different?” 

“Both.” Tony said. 

Silence permeated the room for a long time. Steve wasn’t sure where to take this conversation, because he wasn’t sure where to start, and Tony didn’t seem inclined to be overly talkative. Which was uncharacteristic, but given recent circumstances, Steve supposed it was understandable. 

“Pepper and Rhodey and Bruce. They know…” Tony trailed off, wringing his hands together again. “They know me too well. They know things I don’t want them to without me ever saying anything.” 

“Oh.” Steve said.

“They just – they worry too much. I’m fine. I’m breathing. I’m still graduating on time,” Tony paused. Steve waited for him to continue. “But they look at me and I know they want me to tell them what happened. But I can’t.” 

“You can’t?” Steve asked, legitimately wondering if the FBI prohibited it. 

“No. I mean, I can, it’s just–” Tony turned to Steve like he wanted to say more, but then turned away again. Steve watched as his body slid to the floor, hand tapping a pattern on his chest. 

“What?” Steve asked. He still wasn’t entirely certain as to why Tony was here, or why Tony was talking to him, or what Tony wanted from him. But it gave Steve a chance to find answers to the ever growing list of questions that’d been building in the other boy’s absence. 

“Why do you–,” Tony paused, “–did you hate me?” 

Steve felt a swirl of anxiety flitter around his heart as he deliberated on whether or not to tell the truth. He supposed it didn’t particularly matter one way or the other. 

“I don’t know,” Steve said, “You just always seemed to take everything for granted, or at least, you acted like you did. And, I don’t know, pointing out every little mistake I made wasn’t exactly helping.” 

Tony didn’t say anything. 

“I had to work really hard to get here. I grew up poor, I’m still poor. I’m only here because of my scholarships.” Steve said, “You never had to worry about any of that.” 

Tony didn’t say anything 

Steve felt irritation flutter behind his eyes but before he could voice it, Tony said, “All of that...that was the point.” 

Steve’s irritation was replaced by confusion. 

“Pepper says I push people away.” Tony said, and a wry smile twisted his lips. “She says I do it because I want people to leave on my terms.”

Steve still wasn’t sure where this was going, and awkwardness crept into his posture. 

“She told me it wasn’t going to work on her. Whatever it is, it didn’t work on Bruce or Rhodey either.” Tony said. “For some reason they…” 

Steve watched as Tony turned his head away, and could just make out the red flush that had crept onto his cheeks and ears. 

“Care about what happens to me. They’ll be upset if they know. If they know what happened.” 

Tony looked back to Steve, but it wasn’t embarrassment on his features anymore; he looked equal parts pained and mortified. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, and he scrambled to a standing position. “Should’ve left my baggage at the door. I just, I wanted to make sure you did well on your test and everything and–” 

Steve grabbed Tony’s arm without thinking about it, an attempt to keep him from leaving, but dropped it like he’d been stung at the full body flinch it elicited from the younger man. 

“Sorry!” Steve yelped, stepping forward again. Tony had straightened, and was standing rigid as a brick wall. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Sorry, I just–”

“Wait.” Steve said, except it came out as a demand. Tony halted, and turned to face Steve. 

“It’s okay.” Steve said. “You can tell me if you want to.” 

“Tell you what?” Tony asked, but they both knew what Steve was talking about.

“What happened.” Steve said, moving to sit on his bed. Tony stood in the middle of the floor, hand tapping his chest in a frantic rhythm. 

“I can’t.” Tony said. “I shouldn’t have even come here. It was a dumb idea, god, I–” 

Tony devolved into a mess of mumbled curses as he stood in the middle of Steve’s dorm room, running boney hands through his hair. 

Steve could only take so much before he interrupted. “Tony, I just want to help–” 

“Why!? You’re supposed to hate me!” Tony snapped, before his eyes widened. He went back to mumbling curses and tapping his chest. 

“What?” Steve asked, flabbergasted. Tony gave him a sharp look. 

“I know you hated me.” 

“I did,” Steve admitted. “But only because you acted like a jerk.” Tony had acted that way voluntarily, and now Steve knew it was acting. “But you’re not. I don’t know why you’re not anymore, or, I guess, why you acted that way to begin with. But you’re not. You’re...you’re a good person, Tony.” 

Tony gave him a dubious look. 

“It’s true,” Steve insisted, but Tony was already shaking his head.   
“You don’t like me. You feel sorry for me. “ Tony paused, but Steve couldn’t get a word in edgewise before he continued, voiced raised, “You don’t care about me, you barely even know me!” 

Steve felt annoyance flare in his temple. “I don’t have to know you to know you’re a good person, Tony!” 

Tony looked about ready to respond, but Steve cut him off before he could, “Why are you so set on insisting I hate you?” 

“Because!” Tony snapped, and Steve knew there was more he wanted to say, an actual reason, but he was holding back. 

“Because why, Tony?” He asked, raising his voice a little, his own irritation at the situation starting to grow. 

“Because–” Tony shouted, before cutting himself off with a deep sigh and continuing in a normal voice, “Because if people don’t like me, I can usually trust them.” Tony raked a hand through his hair again, and Steve saw where it caught on the slightly raised scar tissue. 

“Tony, I– I’m,” Steve stammered, trying to work his way around what he’d just heard. Tony acted like a jerk, to make people dislike him and that in and of itself was warped, but what really threw Steve off was the admission that Tony felt he could trust people who didn’t like him. “Why?”

Tony looked at him with an expression Steve couldn’t quite read. “It’s different for you, you know? Your friends are your friends, and you can trust that. I’m not allowed to trust anybody, not with my background, not with my last name.” 

Steve remembered thinking about the people Tony spent his time with, how Tony would shower them with gifts, and wondering if that was the only reason they stayed with Tony. 

Now he knew Tony wasn’t as naive to the situation as he thought. “So why do you put up with them?” Steve asked. 

“They’re harmless, mostly. And it wouldn’t be good for appearances if I only had three friends,” Tony said, a sardonic quirk to his lips. “I’m a high-society socialite, you know.” 

“But–”

“Look, Steve,” Tony said, interrupting him, again, “Like I said, this was a stupid idea and I shouldn’t have even come here. I just– I can’t– nevermind, okay? I need to go.”

“Wait,” Steve said, stepping in front of the shorter boy. “You can trust me, you know. I’m not– I’m not like them.” 

“I know,” Tony said, and when he looked up at Steve, his face was melancholy. “That’s why I wanted you to hate me.” 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding. Tony seemed to get this because he huffed out what could have been a laugh, and started tapping out that rhythm on his chest again. 

“It’s complicated,” Tony started. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you hating me was a lot more convenient.”

“How?” 

“Because I didn’t have to worry about you,” Tony said. “People just– when they’re interested in me, it’s fine, you know? But when they, you know, start to like me, they just...Look, being friends with me is awful.” 

“That’s not–”

“People who are friends with me, people who care about me always end up getting hurt!” Tony insisted, ignoring Steve’s attempt to disrupt his explanation. “And it’s just– I can’t do anything about it because, like, shit like this always happens to me.” Tears were were starting to fill Tony’s eyes, sadness turning his voice wobbly. “And that’s fine, it’s fine, but I just. They worry so much and– This is so stupid! Sorry, I just...” 

Tony turned to leave, and Steve could see harsh red lines against pale skin where he’d viciously wiped tears away. 

“Tony…” Steve trailed off, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. There was so much guilt in Tony, it weighed the whole room down. But for the life of him, Steve couldn’t place what had caused it. 

“Tony, you’re hurting yourself.” Steve said, and only noticed after the words had fallen from his lips that he meant it literally as well. He stepped forward and dragged Tony’s hand away from where it was damn near punching a rhythm into his chest. 

Tony was pliant in Steve’s arms as he guided him over to the chair. 

He was struck once again by the absurdity to the situation. He’d spent a grand total of eight and half hours with the boy on civil terms, and now, after nearly three months, he was managing Tony’s emotional breakdown. 

“Tony, have you talked to anyone about what happened?” Steve asked, hoping that changing the subject might calm the other boy down. Tony looked at him, bringing up a sleeve to wipe the last remnants of tears from his eyes before letting a wry smile curl onto his lips. 

“Obadiah doesn’t trust anybody not to sell the story to the press,” Tony said, apparently not noticing Steve’s concern as he continued, “didn’t even let me tell the FBI everything.” 

Steve felt anger bubble in his throat. “Why not?”

Tony was silent for a minute. He glanced at Steve, eyes penetrating, as if he were weighing him up. He said, “exactly.” 

“What?” Steve blurted eloquently. 

“I think Obadiah set me up,” Tony admitted. Steve stared at the boy, who shifted and said, “But it doesn’t matter. Even if he did, if he got put in prison or whatever, the company would be given to someone else.” 

Steve ignored the other, more urgent questions in favor of keeping up with the conversation and asking, “You’d still get the company when you’re 21, though, wouldn’t you?” 

“Theoretically.” Tony huffed, “But the smartest thing to do would be to sell it before that happened.” 

Steve wasn’t sure how to respond to that with anything other than indignance on Tony’s behalf, and that wasn’t productive, so he asked a question. “What makes you think Stane did it?” 

“Because I have proof.” Tony said, staring at Steve. Steve felt ice run down his spine. 

Just one sentence and he was in the middle of something a whole lot bigger than an emotional breakdown. 

He looked at Tony again, but what he saw was fear epitomized. And suddenly all of Tony’s actions made more sense. 

He’d knocked on Steve’s door because Steve wasn’t connected to him like Rhodey, or Pepper or Banner were; Steve wasn’t supposed to care about him. Tony was desperate and scared and angry and needed to tell someone, someone he could trust, but someone who wouldn’t care, wouldn’t get involved, wouldn’t get hurt. 

That’s why he was angry when Steve admitted he cared. 

That’s why he just gave Steve another opportunity to walk away.


	5. im back and deader than ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. im back. sorry it took even longer than usual im a garbage person. um...okay so i hope y'all like the chapter. I think it might be a bit short, but i had to cut it here or it would have been Too Long.

“What kind of proof?” Steve asked instead, planting himself firmly in the middle of the mess. 

Tony looked at him, still jumpy, tense. He glanced around the room once, as if checking for something, and seemed to have been satisfied because he stood up. 

“You–you can’t tell anyone. Only Rhodey and Stane know.” 

Steve didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before Tony was pulling off his sweatshirt. He was wearing a black t-shirt underneath, but Steve could see the blue outline of something luminous from behind the fabric. 

“I–” Tony paused, and sent a pained looking sheepish smile at Steve. “It’s not pretty.” 

Steve watched as the shirt was pulled off and the skin beneath was revealed. He felt his stomach do a somersault at the same time his heart fell from his chest. 

Tony’s skin was tan all around and littered with more scars than Steve could count. They crisscrossed like silver and pink hatch-marks across his torso, over still-protruding ribs and the angry jut of his hip bone. The number 10 was carved to the left to his navel, small but noticeable because the scar tissue was pink and angry. 

And in the middle of his chest was a hunk of metal, glowing blue and bright like it had every right to be there. Angry red scars protruded from the edges of the thing, trailing like snakes across Tony’s chest. 

Steve reached out a hand, and watched as it took on a blue hue with the proximity. 

“What is that?” He asked. 

Tony looked down at his chest. 

“It’s an arc-reactor.” Tony said. “Stark Industries has a big one - a really big one. A prototype. I made this one.” 

“Why?” Steve asked, looking at the scars. 

Tony shifted, and looked away. 

“The short version?” He said. “The car bomb was a design by Stark Industries, desirable because of its ability to inflict damage via shrapnel expulsion. It expulsed that shrapnel into my chest.”

Tony looked back at Steve, before looking back down at his chest. 

“After that, I passed out. When I woke up…” He tapped the reactor, and Steve realized that’s what he’d been doing all along. “When I woke up someone was ripping my sternum out of my chest and replacing it with the precursor to this.” 

Steve blanched. “You were awake? Could you–” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I passed out because of the pain or because of what I saw.” Tony said. “I woke up attached to a car battery and this magnet in my chest and the news that it was the only thing keeping me from dying.” 

“Christ,” Steve breathed. 

“I, um. No one knows that.” Tony said. “Knows that I was awake. When it happened.” 

“No one?” Steve asked. “What about Oba–”

He caught himself, and asked instead, “How is this proof?”

“It’s not.” Tony said. “But I wasn’t going to tell you anything else until I knew you weren’t going to go bugshit over this.” 

Steve huffed out a forced laugh, still not entirely certain he wouldn’t freak out about it later. 

“Why are you...why are you doing this?” Tony asked abruptly. “Letting me tell you this?” 

“Curiosity,” Steve said immediately, because it was true, but then, “I want to find whoever did this to you.” 

“But why?” Tony asked. 

“Because it wasn’t right,” Steve said.

“Not because of the glory or the fame or the–” 

“Not because I want to sell your story to the nearest tabloid,” Steve said. 

“When did you decide you didn’t hate me?” Tony asked. 

Steve wasn’t as caught off guard by the non sequitur as he might have been at the beginning of this conversation and said, “Sometime after you got abducted,” Steve said. “You threw me off the whole week we studied together. Caught myself not hating you a few times then too.” 

Tony pulled his shirt and sweatshirt back on. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asked. 

“I only talk to four people and three of them would freak out,” Tony said. “Although you didn’t do a great job of meeting my expectations.” 

“What were you expecting me to do?” Steve asked. 

“Yell at me to get out. Tell me to go fuck myself,” Tony said. “Well, maybe not all of that. Your moral compass makes you irritatingly pacifistic.” 

“Why would you come here then?” Steve questioned, not letting himself be sidetracked by Tony’s jab. “If you thought I would do that?” 

Because maybe you wouldn’t.

It was unsaid, but it hung in the silence like a neon sign, at least to Steve. 

“Do you trust me?” Tony asked suddenly. 

Steve paused for a moment, thinking back on all of his interactions with the other boy and finding he had no reason not to. “Yes.” 

“I’m not joking,” Tony said. “I’m not joking about Stane.” 

“I know.” Steve said, even though he didn’t. Not entirely. He knew the two events were related; Tony’s kidnapping and the Stark’s death. He knew Obadiah had motive. He knew that motive was foiled when Tony came back from the dead. He knew all the pieces were there, that it made sense logically. 

But there was still that overarching gloom of surrealness that made it seem impossible.

“And I don’t want to show you.” Tony trailed off, twisting his hands together. “But I need to tell someone. I need someone to know in case–” 

Steve didn’t need Tony to finish the sentence before his chest tightened with concern. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Stane was still around, could try again. 

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Tony said, brown eyes warm with intensity as they gazed at Steve. “No one can know that you know.” 

Because they’ll come after you, too. 

“I know, Tony.” Steve said. “I won’t tell anyone.” Steve wasn’t sure this was true, that he could keep that promise, not if Tony’s life was on the line. 

Tony nodded, apparently accepting Steve’s words at face value, and pulled something out of his pocket. “Give me your computer.” 

Steve nodded obediently and handed his laptop over to Tony, before crawling over to sit next to him on the bed. Tony plugged the flash-drive in before clicking open a video viewer and setting it to full screen. “I found this on his private servers.”

Steve felt his heart kicking like mule against his rib cage as he watched the camera flicker to life. A group of six men stood around a large chair, staring into the camera, as one of them spoke in quick French that Steve couldn’t even begin to try and translate. The figure in the chair – Tony – was grabbed by the hair and yanked up so that his face was directed at the camera. 

He looked dead; his body hung limp, limbs flailing gracelessly with the jerks to his head, his jaw was slack and his eyes were closed. His skin was pale and covered with dirt and blood, his fingers bandaged and lifeless as they banged against the chair. 

The screen abruptly cut to black, and Tony jerked the computer away from Steve and unplugged the flash-drive, jamming it into his pocket without so much as glancing at it. 

“I don’t speak French,” Steve admitted, catching Tony’s gaze. 

“After this,” Tony tapped his chest, “they didn’t talk to me for a long time. I don’t know if it was one day or three. But when they finally came they told me they wanted me to build them weapons.”

“Build them weapons?” Steve asked. Tony seemed to understand where his mind was going because he rolled his eyes.

“The problem with having a brain worth 74 billion dollars is that I’m more valuable than money to most people,” Tony said. Steve was caught between annoyance at the boast and annoyance that he wasn’t sure it was a boast. 

“Okay?” Steve said, still not following. 

“I’m only worth more than money if I use my brain and build things.” Tony said, rubbing a hand over the scar on his temple. 

Steve was convinced the injury would hardly be noticeable if Tony stopped drawing attention to it. 

“They kept asking for weapons and, you know, at first I didn’t build any because kidnapping college students isn’t exactly a characteristic of altruism, so i kind of figured their motives were nefarious. But after awhile, I just...I couldn’t,” Tony said. “I built them weapons. Not the one they wanted, but other things. Tried to make them faulty, but that didn’t work so well.” 

Tony rubbed the spot on his head again. 

“Eventually they gave up, I guess. I’m known for being insufferable,” Tony said. “That video there’s them yelling at Obie for not holding up his end of the deal.” 

“They say it was Obadiah?” Steve asked. Tony nodded, reaching for the spot on his head again. Steve reached out and tugged Tony’s hand away from the scar, making sure not to hold too tightly. 

“What happened there?” Steve asked, letting go to gesture to the same spot on his own head. 

“Medically? An epidural hematoma,” Tony said, and then, “I got whacked over the head by a tire iron.” 

Steve stared at the boy next to him, feeling the strange surrealness that had been accompanying this entire fiasco resurface. It didn’t seem possible that someone he knew could have something like this happen to them. 

Having a name like Stark certainly made the probability of something like this happening seem infinitely more likely logically, but reconciling the logic with the reality that his desk partner in science class was kidnapped and tortured by his father figure in the Canadian wilderness for two months, only to return to school within a month of being recovered was difficult. 

“Did it hurt?” Steve asked, only half joking. Tony laughed anyway. 

“When I fell from heaven? Yes.” He said, and then grinned at Steve’s flat look. “Thought they broke their golden goose; went through all the trouble of capturing my ass only to bash my skull in.” 

“They did surgery, then?” Steve asked, stealing a glance at Tony’s chest. Tony caught the glance at his expression sobered. 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I always knew people wanted to get inside my head and fuck with it.” 

Steve snorted, “Bet you didn’t think literally.”

Tony flashed a smile. “Wasn’t as bad as the first one,” Tony said, gesturing to his chest. “Guess because I couldn’t see giant chunks of my skeleton being ripped out of my still-breathing body.” 

Tony had a very descriptive way of speaking that Steve wasn’t sure he appreciated. 

The room devolved into silence, and Steve could tell Tony was starting to get uncomfortable by the way he kept fidgeting and looking around. 

Finally Steve asked, “What are you going to do?” 

Tony seemed to understand what he meant because he let out a sigh. “The only thing I could do, I just did.” 

Steve felt the heavy weight of helplessness press down on his shoulders. He hated the feeling, had ever since his sickly childhood when he’d become well acquainted with it. 

“He killed my mom,” Tony said after a long moment of silence. 

“You’re sure he’s responsible for your parents?” Steve asked, though he’d been sure from the beginning that the same people were responsible. 

Tony nodded his head, and then turned to look at Steve, “He killed the queen and king. Now the board is his.” 

“Chess.” Steve said. 

“It’s his favorite game,” Tony snorts, turning away from Steve. “And he won.” 

“But chess is a game,” Steve said, standing up so he could move to face the shorter man. “And you can always play another round.”


End file.
